Adam was left holding the phone while his brain caught up with the conversation he had just had with his mother. Perhaps she misunderstood, he reasoned. He’d have to call Georgina and tell her. She would be devastated.
‘What do you mean, she has plans,’ was her plaintive cry on the other end of the phone.
‘Well that’s all she said,’ Adam replied. ‘She has plans.’
‘Nonsense,’ Georgina said. ‘There must be a misunderstanding. She never goes anywhere. You’ll have to go and see her.’
* * *
Liz caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and suddenly saw herself through Tammy’s eyes. She had let herself go over the past few years. She was still fairly slim but her hair desperately needed cutting and was now almost completely white. She did look like a witch. She had taken very good care of herself in the past, always having her hair done and really looking after her skin. She looked young for her age but the grey hair now drained the colour from her face, adding five or ten years. It wasn’t only the garden that had been neglected.
She rang the hairdressers.
When she got to the salon Yvonne, the colourist, recognised her.
‘Hi, Mrs Bailey, haven’t seen you in a while.’ The last time she had been in the salon was the week before Jim died. They were going off to Prague for a long weekend and she had popped in to get her roots touched up.
Yvonne asked her what she would like done. Liz wasn’t really sure except that her hair needed a complete overhaul. Yvonne suggested cutting in some soft layers and adding a colour. She then went off to mix the colour and a trainee stylist came over to help Liz on with her gown before going off to make her a cup of coffee.
Liz liked the coffee at the hairdressers. Filter coffee in a small cafetierre, a cup and saucer, small jug of milk and one of those crunchy coffee biscuits on the side, individually wrapped and brought in on a silver tray, which always made it seem special.
Yvonne came back presently with a trolley containing the bowl of colour and brushes and then proceeded to do exactly as Tammy had done when imitating her mother. She held up a strand of hair before painting on the colour and asking, ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’
Liz was tempted to say that she’d just robbed a bank to fund her drug habit, she doubted that Yvonne was actually listening anyway. Anything was better that talking about Jim. She couldn’t trust herself not to cry.
She managed to fend off most of the questions and thankfully Yvonne didn’t seem to remember anything concrete about her other than the fact that she was a teacher and used to come in regularly. Once her hair had been covered in the dye Yvonne placed a timer on the shelf in front of her.
‘I’ll leave you for thirty five minutes for the colour to develop. Want any magazines?’ she asked. Liz indicated that she did not and instead got out her diary and proceeded to catch up on the last few days. Yvonne brought over a pile of magazines anyway.
‘Must be something they pick up in hairdressing school,’ thought Liz, along with totally ignoring requests to cut off a little bit, like cutting off four or five centimetres when you only asked for one. Liz’s hair was in such bad condition that any style, any length would be an improvement.
She used to write everything in her diary but hadn’t bothered over the last few years. There wasn’t really much point in recording the same miserable day over and over again. She looked at this year’s book, a brown, leather bound, A5 sized diary with a page a day. It was a Christmas present from Adam. She had started writing a diary when she first began studying, just names and dates initially, but as time went on it had become her inner voice. She would record important conversations, incidents in the class and things that went well or not so well during a lesson.
A page a day had been entirely unnecessary as she hadn’t written more than a sentence or two in the last five years. She didn’t exactly remember the dates of events but she decided to record her first encounter with Monica and Tammy. She wrote about Tammy’s drawing of her and Sunday lunch. It felt good to have something to write about. She also skipped ahead to Monday the eighth of April and wrote ‘Making a start on the garden with Tammy.’
She then flicked back the pages to today’s date and wrote, ‘Hairdressers’ and then, ‘Feeling different today, much more positive.’
When she closed the diary she thought about her conversation with Adam. She would have loved to see her grandchildren. She knew what they looked like. Georgina made sure of that with the annual family portrait but she didn’t know them. She doubted that Leo or Sasha would actually like her to be there looking after them. They were not used to her, nor she them. She hadn’t seen them since the Christmas before last and that was only a fleeting visit on their way to the airport. Besides, she had promised to look after Tammy and would not go back on her word.
The alarm on the timer went off and the trainee returned to wash off the colour before moving her to a different chair and the new stylist who would be cutting her hair. Sarah introduced herself and began chatting away. Liz was grateful that she could talk about anything she wanted to and she wanted to talk about the garden.
She told Sarah that she would be reviving a neglected garden. She didn’t say why it was neglected or how long it had been that way, just that it required a bit of work.
‘That’s fantastic,’ enthused Sarah. ‘You have the opportunity to change it completely. A revamp, like on the telly.’
‘You’re right,’ said Liz, and she wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her before.
When Tammy came home from school she did a double take as the front door opened.
‘Who are you and what have you done with Liz?’ she said eventually, taking in the new improved version. Liz’s hair was now light brown with subtle blonde highlights and bouncy layers replaced the straight grey bob.
‘I got sick of looking like a witch,’ she said smiling. Tammy blushed at the memory. Gone were the shapeless tracksuit bottoms and in their place were jeans, flat boots and an olive green v neck jumper. A little eye make-up and blusher completed the transformation.
‘What do you think?’
‘You look nothing like a witch now,’ Tammy replied smiling, which was as near to a compliment as she could manage.
‘You’ll have to redo my portrait,’ said Liz, pointing at the picture on the fridge. Tammy grinned.
Liz had already prepared a snack, which was waiting on the kitchen table next to a notebook and pen. ‘School ends this Friday for the Easter break and I thought we could make a start on the garden, if you’d still like to?’ Liz asked cautiously.
‘I would,’ said Tammy, ‘and I’d also like to do something to help bees.’
‘Bees?’ repeated Liz.
‘We’ve been learning about bees at school and how important they are for pollinating and stuff. Did you know that they are being hurt by pesticides?’ she asked earnestly. ‘Too many gardens are paved over,’ she continued. ‘It’s called habitat destruction, so bees can’t find enough food.’
Liz could imagine the teacher standing in front of the class delivering the doom and gloom sermon and now Tammy was doing the same.
‘Sounds serious,’ she said.
‘It is,’ said Tammy. ‘I want to do something to help them.’
‘OK,’ said Liz. ‘Sounds like the garden and your project have a lot in common. We can work on it together. We can make the garden bee friendly. After tea we’ll do a bit of research on the computer to find out which plants bees prefer. Maybe we could plant up some tubs to put in your garden next door too. What do you think?’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Tammy, who was pleased with the idea and both of them went into the office to work at the computer.
The next day Liz got up early. She had some shopping to do and decided to go to the garden centre first. She wanted to get a plant to take to the cemetery. In the months after Jim’s death the only place she found any comfort was the cemetery. She would sit on a bench near to the black marble plaque which stated in gold letters, ‘James Edward Bailey 12th March 1948 – 5th April 2009. Beloved Husband and Father. Always in our Hearts.’
She would sit on the bench and cry until she could barely breathe and her nose would get so bunged up she had to breathe through her mouth. Eventually there would be no more tears left and through soft, intermittent sobs she would talk to him quietly in her head. She was sorry she hadn’t been able to save him, she was angry he had left her, she was lonely, so very, very lonely without him.
But today felt different. She was different. She would take the flowers to the cemetery but she wouldn’t cry. She would tell him about Tammy and Monica and how she would be working on the garden.
The garden centre was huge. It was always a favourite of Jim’s. They would often go in without collecting a trolley first. This was always a mistake as half way round Jim would spot some flowering shrub or bedding plants and would gather them up in his arms while Liz ran back to the front of the shop to collect a trolley. They would sometimes meet friends in the pub up the road and have lunch after shopping or sit and have a coffee, watching the world go by.
It always amazed her that couples could sit opposite each other with nothing to say. They always had plenty to say. Despite being married for thirty five years they would sit in restaurants and coffee shops, chatting and laughing like a courting couple. They would argue about politics, about religion, about what colour to paint the kitchen, but it was never dull. Liz could talk for England and Jim had never really grown up. He had a real sense of fun.
They used to have loads of friends but none of them were single and in the early months after Jim died the couples didn’t know how to deal with a suicidal widow who could barely string two sentences together without wailing like a banshee. They just stopped coming to see her. She laughed to herself, ‘What must they have thought of me? How do other people cope? How do Monica and Tammy cope?’ She promised herself that she would get in touch with some of their old friends to let them know she was back in the world and hadn’t gone completely mad.
She settled in front of a rack of potted azaleas in various colours and picked a plant with salmon pink flowers.
‘Jim would love these,’ she thought. She picked up two plants and then put them down again while she went back to get a trolley. Instead of going straight to the till she decided to sit down and have a coffee.
The coffee shop had changed since she was last there. It had been revamped and was now very modern. It still sold lattes and cappuccinos, tea and scones but it also sported a blackboard with ‘Specials’ like beetroot risotto with goats cheese and Brie and bacon quiche with pomegranate salad. Liz wasn’t hungry. She ordered a skinny latte and sat down in a seat where she could sit and watch the world go by.
She thought about grief as she waited for the coffee to arrive. It not only robbed you or your loved ones, it robbed you of your confidence, your very self. She thought about Tammy and Monica. Just over eighteen months ago Monica had a sister and Tammy had a mother and now they were struggling to come to terms with their loss and coping a lot better than she had done.
She was completely lost in thought and hadn’t noticed a man sitting nearby who was studying her closely.
‘Liz,’ he said presently. She didn’t hear him the first time so he repeated it, louder this time. She turned to see a familiar face although the name escaped her.
‘I’m sorry. I was miles away. I recognise your face but I’m afraid I can’t place where from, and worse, I can’t remember your name.’
‘St Joseph’s Secondary Modern,’ came the reply. ‘You taught history,’ he continued, ‘I taught design and tech but only stood in for a couple of terms.’
‘Nick,’ she said, ‘yes, I do remember. We have both changed a bit I think.’
‘You still look great,’ said Nick kindly, ‘and I still have my hair and all my own teeth.’
‘A pony tail,’ said Liz, ‘you used to have a pony tail.’
‘I am embarrassed to say that I did,’ said Nick, now sporting a short back and sides with greying hair at the temples. ‘Are you still teaching?’ he asked.
‘No, no,’ said Liz, ‘I left a few years ago. You?’
‘I taught at another school for a while but soon got fed up with school politics and paperwork and decided to start my own business.’
‘That’s great,’ said Liz.
‘Well, it would have been had it worked,’ said Nick, ‘but it folded a few years ago and now I scratch a living as a painter. The pay is lousy but I work when I please and my office is fantastic. When I say my office I mean my spare room.’
Liz smiled. It was nice to have someone to talk to and a bit of light-hearted conversation was just what the doctor ordered. They chatted for a while longer, remembering old colleagues, until she finished her coffee.
‘Well, I’d better be going,’ she said presently. ‘It was nice to see you. Good luck with your new venture.’
‘Nice to see you too,’ said Nick. He stood up to shake her hand as she left the table. ‘Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.’
She grabbed the handle of the trolley and headed towards the tills and the exit. On her way she passed a large stand displaying garden tools and accessories. She scoured the shelves and was pleased to find a fork and trowel set with small flowers on the handles. ‘Ideal for a little girl,’ she thought to herself as she put them in her trolley. Finally she spotted the gardening gloves and picked up the smallest pair she could find and headed to the exit.
She toyed with the idea of going home first but decided instead to go straight to the cemetery. It was a beautiful sunny day and as she drove into the entrance she noticed more cars there than usual, which meant that a funeral was taking place. She thought back to the day of Jim’s funeral. It was a bright sunny day, much like today.
Adam and Georgina brought the children who were quite young to be at a funeral but Georgina kept the children with her while Adam supported Liz, holding her arm as they entered the crematorium. Her legs had almost buckled under her as the mourners came in with the coffin and laid it on the stand at the front of the chapel, Jim’s smiling face beaming out from a picture at the front.
The rest of the service was a complete blur. She had written something to read out but was unable to speak so the vicar had read it for her. Adam stood up and gave a very eloquent eulogy, accustomed as he definitely was to public speaking. Neither she nor Jim were religious and had discussed death but like most people they thought the day was a long way off and there was plenty of time.
Liz always said she would like a cardboard coffin and to be buried in the garden, after donating anything useful to medical science. She didn’t feel sentimental about her earthly remains. They had asked her at the hospital if Jim was an organ donor but she couldn’t get her mind round it at the time and had therefore not given her consent for the hospital to remove anything from his body. She regretted this now as it would have been something Jim had wanted.
How she got through the funeral and the months after were still a mystery. She was in automatic mode, walking through each day of the week like a zombie. Adam came to stay for a couple of weeks and Jim’s sister, Doris, popped in from time to time. She lost weight, she lost weeks, she lost herself. Eventually Doris persuaded her to go to see the doctor who prescribed Prozac.
She remembered looking at the packet and considering taking the whole lot in one go but the thought of Jim and Adam stopped her. As much as her heart ached Jim would not have approved so she flushed them down the toilet. Looking back she thought that she may have coped better if she had moved and not had to look at the garden at all.
Today she definitely felt stronger. She was now considering changing the garden and banishing the memories of that terrible day.
She parked her car and took the flowers from the boot before heading towards Jim’s plot. She always took wipes in the car with her so she could clean the plaque. Luckily she had Tammy’s new tools in the car so she would be able to plant them properly instead of placing them either side of the plaque as she had originally intended.
When she was happy with her handiwork she sat on the bench to talk to Jim. She told him how sorry she was that the garden had been so neglected, particularly the lawn. She mentioned the amazing flowers Adam had sent for Mothers’ Day. She kept her real thoughts to herself on this matter. She didn’t want Jim to think badly of their son. When she ran out of new things to say she told him she loved him and that she was going off to buy Easter eggs and something nice for Monica.